


Imprisoned

by Xenobotanist



Series: Prisoners to Parents [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bottom Elim Garak, Canon-Typical Violence, Dominion War (Star Trek), Dubious Science, Eggpreg, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Genetically Engineered Beings, Hebitian Legend, Intersex Character, Jem'Hadar - Freeform, M/M, Prisoner of War, Slow Burn, Top Julian Bashir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24624181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: Captured by the enemyDamaged life supportHand to hand combatDifficult decisions must be made.-OR-This isn’t another fluffy eggpreg.I would like to thank the staff of Adigeon Prime and their shady practices for making this possible.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Prisoners to Parents [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780357
Comments: 12
Kudos: 102





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I swore I would never write Garak getting knocked up. It started out as a 600-word exercise in “If I did, how would it work?” and evolved into something more. I had NO INTENTION of writing a short novel while in the middle of 4 other WIPs. So this is my own spin on the eggpreg trope, although the focus is on how they get there, not the pregnancy itself.   
> No one gets fluffy, fluttery, or fussy. Both heroes maintain their identities and badassness. And there’s even an attempt at science and a Hebitian legend to explain what happens.  
> Set some time in the middle of Season 6

The cloaked Dominion ship had come out of nowhere. Their shuttle had gotten off a few shots and scored some damage, but it wasn’t fast enough. The Jem’Hadar that appeared didn’t wait for Julian or Garak to speak, they just aimed their phasers and fired.

=-=-=-=

Julian woke to a headache and still-tingling fingertips. He was on the floor of some sort of holding cell with Garak, who was propped up in the corner, but still very unconscious. He sat up slowly, wincing, but glad to have sustained no further damage, and gathered his wits while waiting for his crewmate to come around.

The room was unremarkable: gray walls, gray ceiling, dark gray floor. One light fixture above, one cot against the bulkhead. Some type of waste receptacle in the corner. No handles or padds to access the door.

There weren’t any snuffles or grunts to signal Garak’s waking. He was simply still one moment, then stretching and standing the next. He took in the surroundings immediately, as Julian had expected. The Cardassian looked completely unruffled, but he knew that just beneath the calm exterior was a soldier ready to leap into action. Eventually, the clear blue eyes settled on him.

“It appears, Doctor, that our adversaries were not taking any chances this time. I suspect the knowledge that we have already been their prisoners and not only survived but escaped spurred them to take _extra_ precautions.”

The reasoning was sound. Julian, who had been hugging his knees to his chest, stood up too. “So, what do we do now?”

“ _You_ may do whatever you feel is necessary to help us out of this predicament. I wish to examine this chamber.” He rose to his feet and began a thorough inspection of the walls, floor, and door. Julian observed, memorizing his methods in case he should ever be trapped alone and need to do the same. He admired the efficiency and thoroughness of Garak’s inspection: tapping, knocking, and prying to search for false or weak panels, wrenching at struts and pipes to check whether they were loose, even leaning a cheek to cracks to check for a whisper of airflow.

Just to feel helpful, Julian pulled the cot to the center of the room so he could unsteadily balance on it to analyze the material covering the light. Garak motioned him to the door. “What do you say we put your genetically enhanced strength to the test?” Lacking handholds, they both braced their palms against the door and strained to slide it open. For good measure, Julian gave the door a solid punch.

Unfortunately, all of their work seemed to be for naught.

Julian sat down on the cot, motioning for Garak to join him when it looked like he was set to return to his corner. All that was left to do was wait.

=-=-=-=

The first day or so wasn’t bad. No visits were made or food delivered, but both occupants of the prison were still recovering from the effects of being stunned, so they mostly slept, each taking a turn on the cot while the other stood guard.

The second day was more difficult. The temperature had been slowly but steadily increasing, causing Julian to shed the outer jacket of his uniform, and he was beginning to consider losing the inner shirt as well. Without water to fight off dehydration, they grew querulous and then listless. When Julian’s inner clock reached 50 hours, he began banging on the door. “Hello out there! We need some water! If you want us to stay alive, either turn down the heat or bring us something to drink!” He desperately hoped their captors _did_ need them alive. Otherwise, they’d already be dead, right?

An hour later, the door opened, admitting 2 Jem’Hadar. Each had a stunner in one hand and a cup in the other. A third guarded the exit. They really weren’t taking chances.

“Gentleman! Welcome to our humble residence. To what do we owe the pleasure?” They stared. Julian smirked. Leave it to Garak to use graciousness as a taunt.

“Drink,” one of them growled.

“How do we know these are safe for consumption?” Garak enquired, walking up to his “guests.” The Jem’Hadar both stepped back, one of them adjusting his phaser to point more directly at him.

“They are water.” The one on the left intoned. “They are safe.”

“But what assurance do we have? How do we know they are not poisoned with something that will harm us, or render us paralyzed?”

The Jem’Hadar on the right showed his teeth. “That is not necessary. For now.”

Julian stood beside Garak, face cautious as the other phaser turned to point at his chest. “What do you think?”

“I think that talking to the bulkhead would be more interesting that conversing with our prison guards.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “About the _drinks.”_

“They’re probably safe.” He reached his hand to accept a cup, so Julian mirrored him. As soon as the beverages left their hands, the warriors retreated, never turning from their captives until the door shut.

Julian sniffed his drink while Garak studied the vessels. They were constructed of a blue silicone blend, too pliable to be repurposed into tools or weapons. He sighed. “Doctor, I am inclined to believe that the contents are harmless. But in the case that they are _not_ , I recommend one of us drinks and waits for an hour to allow any unpleasant effects to develop. I offer myself.” He saluted his friend with the cup. “After all, you are the doctor, and thus better equipped than I to render aid.”

Julian couldn’t fault his reasoning. “Alright. But just one sip. In case it really is dangerous.”

“A small sip may not be enough, though, if it has some purpose _other_ than death.” And before Julian could argue, he gulped down half of the water.

=-=-=-=

No ill effects had appeared after an hour, so they both finished off their drinks. The temperature had continued to climb, and the relief was soon sorely missed. Julian found himself repeatedly looking back into his cup to see if any final drops were left. He gave up and removed his shirt instead.

Garak hummed in annoyance. “Is that really necessary? If we’re given the chance to escape, you will need protection.”

“I don’t care. I’m _hot_. If I sweat out all the water I just drank, I’ll get sick.” He fanned himself with a hand. He had occasionally fantasized about stripping in front of Garak, but not under these circumstances. He brushed off the intrusive and utterly irrelevant thought. This was not the time nor the place. “What about you? Are you comfortable for once?” Garak had once described Deep Space Nine as frigid, so he wondered if this would be more to his liking.

“It _was_ comfortable, about ten hours ago. But now it’s beginning to move beyond that even for me.”

“Do you think they’re trying to torture us?” Julian tried to sound as nonchalant as his cellmate to mask the ball of fear that had begun to wind itself is his stomach and chest.

Garak considered that, but shook his head. “I think they would save the torture for questioning. They like to see you squirm.”

That wasn’t as reassuring as Julian had hoped.

=-=-=-=

Several hours later, a panel at the bottom of the door lifted. 2 more cups were placed just inside it, along with 2 foil packets. The panel closed.

Overheated and desperately thirsty, Julian and Garak had downed the drinks before it even occurred to them to check for a risk. The packets were powdered rations. They stared at each other in despair. With water, they could have made a paste. But now…the choice was to pour the dust into their mouths or wait for the next delivery.

=-=-=-=

They tried to play games to pass the time and keep their minds sharp. Garak gave Julian riddles, and Julian taught him 20 questions. Without the limits imposed by lunch breaks, they found it easy to pick up on several of their literary discussions. But it was increasingly difficult to get their hearts into it. Neither of them seemed able to summon up the customary passion for defending their points. When it came time to sleep, Julian went first. Garak recited _The Neverending Sacrifice_ to him until he drifted off.

The doctor had only been down for a fitful 2 hours when there was an interruption. He scrambled up as the door slid open, admitting a single Jem’Hadar with his phaser at the ready. He made a cursory glance over both occupants, then shot the human.


	2. Absence

Julian woke an uncertain amount of time later, sprawled half off the cot and sporting a new headache, as well as a jammed wrist from falling on it. Garak was gone. So were the 4 cups and 2 empty packets. His stomach clenched. What had happened? If there had been a struggle, there wasn’t anything to show the evidence. At least there wasn’t any blood. Or a body.

For the next 30 hours, Julian waited. Water came twice, rations once. He tried banging on the door again, yelling for attention, asking about Garak, but no answer came. The heat was stifling, but at least it seemed to have reached a holding point. Even so, he finally removed his trousers. The bed was scratchy and the walls too warm, so he couldn’t lean on anything. He spent a lot of time just sitting on the floor in his Starfleet briefs, elbows on his knees. Occasionally, he’d do some stretches, just to be physically ready in the event of an attack or chance at escape.

With only himself for company, Julian’s thoughts turned to Garak. Back on Deep Space Nine, he could keep himself sufficiently busy, too active to let his mind wander. He spent 14-hour workdays in the infirmary and lab. Passed evenings in the bar or holosuites with Miles. If he wanted a drink but the Irishman was busy, he could talk to Quark or Morn. Jadzia’s and his schedules rarely matched up, but they spent time watching holovids or playing Dabo when they could. But in the between-times, he too often found his mind occupied by the spy-turned-tailor.

His feelings regarding the Cardassian were…complicated. In the beginning, there had just been the intrigue of being contacted by (and outrageously flirted with) an enemy spy. It had made his pulse soar and endorphins rush every time he thought of meeting again.

During that first year, when it felt like everyone on the senior staff found him insufferably annoying, Garak not only accepted but sought out his company. Sometime over the following year, the exhilaration was slowly replaced with affection as they started sharing lunches and discussing literature, something he hadn’t done since extracurriculars in his early Starfleet days.

When he’d learned about the implant, he’d been hurt, angry, confused. The implacable, infallible Cardassian assassin falling victim to something like addiction had been an eye-opening revelation. He had always thought that if he ever met someone with such a condition, he’d condemn it and be disgusted. But he couldn’t. He saw the pain. The self-loathing. He saw through Garak’s attempts to push him away and suffer alone. When Garak had tried committing suicide, his heart had wrenched at the thought of such a vital and passionate person leaving him. And Enabran Tain’s outright rejection and ill-will towards Garak only made him want to be there for his friend even more.

Over the years, the lunches continued. They became such a regular part of his routine that they should have grown boring, but that was the beauty of his Cardassian friend; he was _never_ boring. The constant twisting tales and obfuscations could be a little tiresome at times. But he couldn’t deny that they also challenged him like nothing else could. Well, except for epidemiology, but one can’t gain any sort of friendship with viruses and illness-inducing microorganisms. Garak routinely pushed his limits (and his buttons), provoking and inspiring him to look at concepts in new and unique ways. But it wasn’t just that. Garak _listened_ to him. When he shared his thoughts with others (Miles), about this cultural practice of the Ferengi or that evolutionary theory of Gallamites, he was often met with a glassy stare and yawn. But Garak greeted these topics with genuine interest, asking questions and sharing his own perspectives.

And after the internment camp and Julian’s outing as an augment… Garak understood having a father who was disappointed in you. Having to hide who you are. The pain of suspicion and rejection when _others_ discover who you are, _what_ you are. Garak understood the feeling of being isolated even on a crowded space station. Although he never admitted it outright, of course.

It took almost 5 years, but one day Julian realized that he put more preparation into a lunch debate with Garak than any date with a possible romantic interest. By now, he couldn’t honestly remember when his last date had been. He wasn’t sure at what point Garak went from being a friend to something more. He was even less sure what that something more was. But he fervently hoped that this wasn’t the end, that maybe someday he’d have the chance to find out.

=-=-=-=

Just when Julian started tapping at different pipes and wall panels to check once again for secret compartments (or try producing a tune), the door opened and Garak was tossed in. “You’re welcome!” he called out indignantly as it slid shut.

“Garak!” Julian was so glad to see the Cardassian alive that he dashed over and hugged him. Garak stiffened, then relaxed a fraction and patted him awkwardly on the back.

“My dear Doctor, I am in desperate need of rest. I will tell you all I know in a short while. But for now…” He stepped away and settled gingerly on the bed to stretch out.

“Oh yes, of course.” Julian sat back down on the floor, but close by. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Garak must have been tired indeed. He hadn’t even mentioned Julian’s state of undress.

Julian watched him, too tired to think about much. He was exhausted, even though he’d been barely doing anything. The constant stress of being trapped, not knowing what was going on or what had happened to Garak, what was _going_ to happen…and to top it off, they weren’t being given enough sustenance. It was enough to deplete the reserves of anyone, augmented or not.

Garak moaned in his sleep. Julian scooted closer until he could lean against the cot. He listened to the other man’s breathing, but refrained from taking his temperature or feeling his pulse for fear of waking him. He crossed his arms along the edge of the frame and rested his chin on them. At this proximity, he could feel the heat wafting off Garak’s body from beneath the layers of clothes. He must be overheating, but he hadn’t removed a thing. And there was a subtle scent, too. Julian had seldom been close enough to smell Garak, but he knew that he had a bitter, almost metallic aroma. Now, though, it seemed a little sweeter. Maybe it was a stress response, or a chemical released in sweat.

He’d planned on letting his friend sleep for several hours if necessary, but it was probably only 45 minutes before he came to. Garak didn’t always make the best choices regarding his personal health. The tailor seemed surprised to wake and find Julian resting next to him. They both rubbed their eyes at the same time, causing the human to smile a bit. “You could rest longer, you know. I’m sure you need it.”

For once, there was no argument from Garak. “You deserve to know what’s going on.” He folded his hands. “We’re on a Jem’Hadar ship headed for a Dominion base. I know that they plan on holding us there, although not for what purpose.” He seemed to realize he was talking to the ceiling, and sat up. His feet came down next to Julian’s knees on the floor. He grimaced, lifting one hand, but put it back down again. “There is a Vorta in command, with at least one troop of Jem’Hadar, but I was unable to determine how many.” He licked his dry lips. “And there are 3 Cardassians.”

“Where did they take you?”

Garak’s eyes cleared a little, and he gave one of his old smiles. “Our efforts to evade capture were more successful than we thought. The navigational system and life support were damaged. The ship was at a standstill until they brought me out. I have been working to repair the navigation, with your life as the incentive.” Despite the heat, Julian shivered. “The Jem’Hadar were able to halt the temperature increase, but not to reduce it.”

“And did they take care of you? Food, water? Did they hurt you?”

Garak nodded. “I was able to share a meal with the other Cardassians. It was quite the feast compared to our rations _here_.”

“But were you hurt? You seem uncomfortable.”

“My dear Doctor, _everything_ about this situation is uncomfortable.”

Even as a captive, he could be a pain in the arse. Julian sighed. “You groaned in your sleep. And when you sat up, it looked like something pained you.”

“Your powers of observation continue to be astute. But I assure you, I am fine.”

Julian had learned how to identify Garak’s lies by now. If it contained a long, winding story, it was almost definitely a lie. This had been short, which could have made it a truth. But it was preceded by a compliment. Therefore: a lie. Still, whatever was bothering him didn’t seem to be causing too much trouble (yet), so the doctor let it slide. Mostly. “You still need more rest. Lie back down, or I’ll make you.” He grinned.


	3. Drought-Bloom

The sleeping figure did little to ease Julian’s mind. Garak remained unconscious, but he was restless. He tossed, rolled over. Moaned again. A couple times, he gripped at his abdomen, and Julian ducked out of the way, certain the tailor was going to wake and make a dash for the waste receptacle. When he did finally rouse, Julian tried to mask his concern. Garak’s skin had developed a glossy sheen, and his eyes had darkened to almost navy.

“Garak, you can’t lie to me. I know something’s wrong. What’s going on? Do you think they poisoned your food?”

The look turned on him was indecipherable. “Doctor, you forget. Cardassians come from a _vastly_ different environment than humans. I suspect the heat is having an effect on my chemical balance. I _have_ spent the past several years on a very cold and dry station. I suspect that my body is adjusting to the sudden climactic changes.”

“It’s doing more than _adjusting_.” Julian wished desperately that he had access to a tricorder. As a doctor, it was hard enough seeing anybody in pain. But it was even more difficult when that someone is a person you care about. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Garak nodded. “You can take your turn lying down. Please, Doctor. It is imperative that our strength and wits remain about us.” He stood, gesturing gallantly to the cot.

=-=-=-=

Rather than a gradual fade into awareness, Julian snapped awake. He opened his eyes to see Garak pacing the other side of the cell. He was muttering to himself, but stopped the moment he realized he was being watched.

“Ah. Doctor.”

Julian waited, but no other comments were forthcoming. That was…unusual. He watched the brisk walk from one side of the room to the other, the brief contemplation of the wall, and the return trip. After about 5 minutes, he broke the silence.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Garak’s stride paused. “No.” He picked it back up.

“Tell me _something.”_

Another stop. The dark eyes were briefly haunted until he pulled his mask on. “Would you like more information on our captors?”

“What? Of course! Tell me whatever you can.”

“May I?” He waved at the cot.

“Oh, of course. Take a turn.” Julian got off and turned around to sit on the floor, looking up at the man who gingerly sat down on the dull mat.

“The Vorta’s name is Baylour. They run the ship with a rather stern approach. Not nearly as cheerful as our friend, Weyoun.” He smiled wryly. “The Jem’Hadar are…well, Jem’Hadar. None of them seems to stick out in any one way. As for the Cardassians…” He made a face like the word left a sour taste in his mouth. “Their names are Balak, Nolin, and Muhlt. Balak is married, and I believe the main reason he is here is that his family has been threatened in some way. I have not been able to gather enough information as to what his personal views are on Cardassia’s alliance with the Dominion, though. Nolin is… dull and humorless. He’s also one of the largest of my countrymen I’ve seen in some time. He probably has more in common with the Jem’Hadar than his compatriots.” He examined his nails. “And _Muhlt_.” Julian knew that tone of voice. It was usually reserved for one particular man. “ _Muhlt_ is a close ally of _Dukat_.” Julian wasn’t surprised; that explained the digust. “He also knows more about the Obsidian Order than I would have expected. Needless to say, he was none too happy to have me working beside him for the day.” Garak smiled wanly. He suddenly remembered something. “Also, it may take some time for us to reach our destination. There was no explanation, but once they set the ship on course, it was only at warp 3.”

Julian stared about the room. “What was it like out there?” He felt guilty about it, but he was secretly a little envious that at least Garak had been allowed to leave.

“Oh, if you’ve seen one Jem’Hadar ship, you’ve seen them all. Dim, tacky, uncomfortable. Hot.” He pulled at his sleeves, then around his collar.

“Garak, you’re going to get heatstroke if you don’t remove some of your clothing.” The look turned on him would wither a lesser man, but Julian liked to think he’d developed something of an immunity. Repeated exposure, and all that. He crossed his arms and gave his best “I’m the doctor and you’re the patient” face.

Grudgingly, his friend started working at the hidden clasps on his tunic. He removed it with a tailor’s care, then frowned. “It really needs to be hung.”

Despite himself, Julian guffawed. “Hung? Is that what you’re worried about at a time like this?”

Garak ignored him, folding the fabric as neatly as he could and setting it at the head of the bed, like a pillow. He was still in his thermal undershirt, but it was a start.

A knock sounded at the door. Startled, they both jumped up to face it. At the last second, Julian grabbed his pants and balled them up in front of his groin.

The three Cardassians walked in, crowding the space. Their eyes were trained on Garak, completely ignoring Julian. The largest one would have to be Nolin. The one sporting a sneer was likely Muhlt, which made the shortest one Balak. He was the one who spoke up, addressing only Garak. “The life support cannot be repaired until we reach the base, which will take 6 days. The temperature will remain as it is, which means that _you_ will continue through the drought-bloom” Julian’s UT beeped, letting him know that the translation may not be accurate, “and will reach the final phase in less than 2 days.” Garak paled. “You have that long make a decision.” The speaker glanced at the other 2 Cardassians, nodded, and led the group back out.

Julian ran toward the exit. “Wait! What—” The door closed before he reached it. “Garak…what…?” He turned back around to find the other man fastidiously re-folding the tunic on the cot. He approached cautiously, uncertain as whether to stay standing, sit down next to Garak, or seat himself on the floor. Only aware that something was wrong, he wanted to offer support. But Garak, at times, was prone to lashing out if he felt stifled. The floor would probably at least let him have space.

About a meter in front of the friend who was currently ignoring him, Julian settled on the ground, crossing his spindly legs. Trying to look casual to not provoke any negative reactions, he leaned back on his hands. “Garak. I don’t understand what’s going on. I know that you’re keeping something from me, and you’re trying to protect either me or yourself. But right now, I’m the only friend you have on this ship. So I’m just going to sit here and wait until you figure that out.”

Garak lifted his head. A faint bluish tinge had begun to show in the center of his _chufa_ (which Quark had once referred to as the “head spoon” and paid dearly for) and some of the scales of his neck. Rather than a sarcastic comment or scathing retort as Julian had expected, he posed a question. “Doctor, would you permit me to tell you a story? It’s an old Hebitian tale.”

Julian knew very little about the ancient Hebitians, only that they preceded the Cardassians (or were ancestors of?), had achieved solar technology, and been a rather gentler and nature-oriented race. He gestured in the affirmative.

“Once upon a time, there existed a small tribe of stars. They were very bright, very hot stars. So hot in fact, that they scorched anything that came too near. They couldn’t even stand to touch one another. Every asteroid, comet, or life form that passed through was sucked dry and vaporized by the heat. Their sector of space became known as the Desert of the Seven Suns. After a few millennia or so of each other’s company, they grew ill-tempered and petulant. The least-afflicted of the tribe realized that if they continued like this, they would destroy one another. It decided that circumstances would not change until _they_ changed. And so, it turned off its light and distanced itself from the others for a period of contemplation. In a short time, space creatures of all forms came to see this altered being. It made friends and learned a great amount of knowledge. The other six stars became jealous of its affinity for life, and fought even harder than before. The seventh sun, now dim, intervened. ‘Your light is too bright. There are too many of you, and together you cause death. You must separate and find your own ways.’ But none of them wanted to leave their home. And so it made a decree: ‘One of you may stay, for without some light, no life can exist at all.’ But they could not agree who would remain, and so the choice was left to the dim one, for it had the most wisdom. It made a choice, and the others departed to start their own systems in other regions of space. To encourage more life, the wise one and the remaining sun combined a portion of each of their essences, which they shaped into a new planet. This became Cardassia Prime, with the bright one as its sun, and the dim one its moon.”

“That was…very nice, er, Garak.” Julian frowned, turning the story over in his mind. He doubted the Cardassian had been able to come up with it on the spot, so there was probably a decent chance that it was an actual legend. But he was still trying to work out how it pertained to their situation. _Let’s see…Obviously the story is an allegory for some part of Cardassian life, either culture or biology. Garak has to make a choice. That makes him the dim one, the moon, right? The one with the most wisdom, or course. That makes the other Cardassians the other suns. And he has to choose one._ An idea began to form in his mind, but he knew it could be tricky to pose a question to verify it. “The ancient Hebitians were…heliophilic, right? Did they identify with themselves as the suns?”

“Some, yes. Others were associated with the moon.”

 _Just like old Earth religions!_ But Julian quelled the distraction before speaking it aloud. “So…the Hebitian legend is being used to describe… an evolutionary adaptation, then. For… a sun to… become a… moon.”

“That would be an… accurate statement,” Garak replied reluctantly. “Before civilization, my species lived in small communities. During times of drought, the young were most susceptible to dehydration and died off first. If a community found itself without any offspring or adults capable of carrying young, then one of the adults would… _develop_ that ability.” Garak finally faced Julian. “The extreme temperatures on this ship seem to be triggering an evolutionary drought-response among the four Cardassians aboard.”

As a doctor, Julian had a much fuller picture of the situation now. He recalled their visitor’s description of Garak undergoing “drought-bloom.” And that he would have to choose someone. Garak’s pain and reticence finally made sense.


	4. Decisions

After a long period of silence, Julian couldn’t help himself. He had so many questions. “Garak. I was wondering. How does it work? I mean… how is it determined who will be the one that… ah… changes?”

From the way the man turned away, Julian could sense his discomfiture. “In a hostile environment, _health_ is the key factor in reproduction. Therefore, whichever individual has been exposed to the most nutritious diet for the longest term, resulting in the greatest amounts of reserve energy—"

“Oh! Whoever has the highest fat content!” Julian’s eyes grew large as he realized what had just escaped his mouth. Garak’s transformation from despondent to indignant would have been funny if it wasn’t so tragic. “I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean that. I mean, yes, that’s what it translates to, but…” He grimaced. “I’ll shut up now.” But it wasn’t long before he spoke up again. “But I _do_ want to help you. I don’t know how I can, but I know this must be difficult for you. You, ah… you were cramping before, right? Does that mean you’re…um… your organs…”

Garak looked like he was trying to stare a hole through Julian. “I can’t believe you’re a doctor,” he said scathingly. Ah, there was the Garak he knew and loved.

“ _Excuse me_ for not knowing a great deal about Cardassian physiology. Your friends wiped Terok Nor’s records when they left the station, and the only Cardassian I know personally _happens_ to have an aversion to getting checkups. Perhaps next time I see Gul Dukat I should ask him if he’s due for a physical.”

“I’d be careful about that; he may just take you up on it.” There was almost a smile.

Julian inched closer. Garak had been right to some extent. This called for a doctor, not a sympathetic friend. “Look, I know that Cardassian reproductive organs are kept inside the body. The Federation at least knows what they are and where they are, thanks to field autopsies. All Cardassians have an _ajan,_ which is sort of like the cloaca in Earth birds and reptiles. Roughly 50% of Cardassians also have a _prUt_ inside, which can become external when needed for insemination. The other half have an internal chamber called the _irskit,_ which is where insemination occurs and the egg forms. There are, of course, exceptions and variations, as in any species.”

Garak seemed more at ease with the use of medical jargon. “Actually, all Cardassians have a version of the _irskit_. It remains underdeveloped and inactive in those that have a _prUt,_ unless the individual is exposed to specific conditions. In this case, extreme heat and—to some extent—drought, seeing as we aren’t being rationed enough water. In that case, the _irskit_ enlarges and begins to function.” He folded his hands primly. “But in no way does that change the size or function of the _prUt.”_

=-=-=-=

After a break for more water and rations, they picked back up on their conversation.

“Why do you have to pick someone? Couldn’t you just, you know… decide not to mate? We’re not even on Cardassia, and your race isn’t exactly in danger of extinction.”

Garak frowned. “I’ve spent enough time around the others that my hormonal levels have affected them. If I don’t choose one, then they’ll begin to fight among themselves for the… _honor_ of bedding me. As a physician, I’m sure you understand what pheromones can do to someone. Especially with a naturally-aggressive race like my own.”

“Well, couldn’t _you_ fight them? And if you win, then you could just….” He trailed off.

“I appreciate your faith in my combative abilities, dear doctor. However, Cardassian coupling can be rather…forceful. Remember, we thrive on conflict. I’m afraid that a wrestling match between me and a potential suitor could escalate rather quickly.”

Julian bobbed his head in understanding, trying to save him the embarrassment of elaborating. But another uncomfortable thought intruded. “Um, Garak? Will one time be enough? For this to be over?”

“I’m afraid not. My body will continue to produce chemical signals for potential mates until impregnation occurs.”

“Oh.” Julian wished he knew what to say.

They sat in mutual contemplation for a while.

Garak spoke first. “I suppose it would be somewhat gratifying to select Muhlt, for his reaction alone,” he commented, smiling sardonically.

Julian wasn’t sure whether to be amused or horrified at the prospect of choosing someone who loathes your existence to impregnate you.

“Of course, I would never keep the offspring of such a pairing. Muhlt’s malevolence is best left out of the gene pool,” Garak stated matter-of-factly. “But I wouldn’t keep the offspring in any case. I have nothing to offer but the life of an exile on an inhospitable space station.” His eyes roamed the quarters. “That is, assuming we made it back again.”

Julian hadn’t ever given much thought to children. He’d always figured he’d put it off until he was in a serious relationship. He couldn’t fathom what it would be like to have this suddenly thrust upon him. What would _his_ choice be? He couldn’t picture forced intimacy with any of the Cardassians on board, much less carrying one of their children. But if Garak didn’t make a choice, _they_ would. Unless…

Julian bit his lip. “How…Just exactly how… _Cardassian_ …does your mate need to be?”

Garak tilted his head. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Like, what percentage?”

Garak looked taken aback. “One can hardly be _partially_ Cardassian. Except for the orphans left behind from the Occupation, or like Ziyal. But there are none aboard.”

Julian couldn’t determine if Garak was being deliberately obtuse. It didn’t matter, really. How to go about explaining what he meant, though? He’d thought about it plenty. He’d reviewed the data, played it back night after night in the past. Used it to justify his actions (or lack thereof) for years. And now it was coming back, painfully relevant. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, trying to still the mad flutter in his chest. He regarded his friend, who waited patiently. His dear friend, who was having one of the most difficult experiences of his life. “Garak.” Their eyes met, held. “Elim.” The blue eyes grew wary. “I am… um, _actually…_ a little bit… Cardassian.”

Garak’s eyes narrowed. He looked more angry than surprised. “I don’t see how that can be at all possible. And this is not a time for jests, Doctor.”

“It’s not! I’m not! Joking, that is. I _am_ a tiny bit Cardassian. I have some Cardassian DNA.” He ran his hands up and down his thighs. “You remember Adigeon Prime? The genetic engineering? They don’t just start from scratch when they can use codes that already exist. I’m not sure what parts, exactly, they used. Possibly for strength and memory. Certainly not for eyesight. Maybe reflexes?” He shook his head. “But that’s not the point. So you see, Garak, that… ahhhh… maybe I could be one of your options?”

Garak stood up from the cot and walked over to the bulkhead.

“Elim?” Julian wanted to stand up and offer support. But he wasn’t able to read a face that was staring very determinedly at the wall. After the longest 60 seconds of his life, Garak turned around.

“Doctor, I don’t know what to say. This is hardly something I could ask of you.”

Julian’s heart resumed beating, which was funny, because he hadn’t been aware that it _stopped_. “You don’t have to ask. I’m offering. Surely I’m a better option than _them?”_

“ _Infinitely_ better. But you are still _mostly_ human, Doctor. It may not even take.”

“Well, we won’t know unless we try.” That _almost_ drew a smile.

Cautiously, hopefully, he stood up and joined Garak. He wasn’t always very proficient at reading social cues, but he’d spent enough time with this particular friend that he thought he knew what was needed. “Come here.” He didn’t reach for his hand, instead he lightly gripped the nearest arm and drew the tailor away from the wall. Garak let himself be led back to the cot. They sat down together, leaving ample space between them.

Julian debated sharing his feelings with Garak. On the one hand, it might help to know that Julian cared about him, rather than just wanting to have sex with him. On the other hand, it might be too much for the other man to digest for now.

It shouldn’t be up to him, anyway; this wasn’t his battle. So he put his hand out, touching Garak just slightly on the shoulder, far down from the blushing ridges. “If you need to talk, I’m here, alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Ajan and prUt come from Vyc and tinsnips English-Kardasi dictionary  
> • I couldn’t find a Kardasi word for uterus, so I made it up


	5. Battle

Julian was able to make Garak take the first shift sleeping, seeing as his body needed the most rest. When the rations and water were delivered, he was secretly glad his friend was still comatose. It meant he could arrange their portions to make sure the Cardassian received more rations without having to fight over it. At least he seemed more peaceful this time.

When he woke, Julian was surprised that Garak actually let him do a cursory examination. He was severely limited without a medkit, but he was able to at least gather rough estimates of pulse, blood pressure, temperature, and reflexes. He tried to keep his touches strictly professional, unsure where exactly they stood at the moment.

Garak was just finishing up his rations when the Cardassians returned. Julian noticed a few changes on them as well. Whereas Garak’s body had blue accents, theirs had flushed dark gray, almost to black. Nolin had his chest puffed up and looked like he was barely maintaining self-control.

Balak opened his mouth to speak, but Garak was already standing and beat him to it. “We don’t have to do this. I reject all of you as potential suitors.” He raised his chin defiantly.

Nolin stomped forward. “No. You will choose, or we will choose for you.”

Julian gulped and shoved between them. “Then he chooses me.” He tried to stand as tall as he could and not look intimidated. Nolin was roughly the same height as Dukat, but his jaw was more square, and his limbs and torso noticeably more muscular.

Nolin stared, then started laughing. “Impossible! You’re not even Cardassian!”

“I have some Cardassian DNA. You can go ahead and check,” Julian stated, knowing full well they wouldn’t be able to. “Besides, he did choose me.”

They had an unexpected ally in Balak. “There’re no official laws regarding drought-bloom, Nolin. If Garak chooses the human for his mate, so be it.”

Nolin made a sound approximating a growl. “I do not accept his choice.”

“Neither do I,” added Muhlt. He smiled malevolently.

Balak looked uncomfortable. He shifted on his feet.

“Fight me.” Julian was surprised to hear it escape from his mouth, but found that he meant it. “If I win, then you walk away.”

Nolin squinted and frowned. Julian watched as the few braincells he had processed the challenge.

“Oh, just get on with it,” said an irritated voice from outside the door. The Vorta appeared, bright blue eyes flashing in annoyance. “This whole situation has been distracting to 3 members of my crew. I find that terribly inefficient. I cannot permit this to continue.” They pointed at Balak, Nolin, and Muhlt. “You three, out.” A gesture to the guards outside the door. “You and you. Take the prisoners to the training space.”

Phasers pointing at them, Julian grabbed his uniform as he and Garak left, only to be roughly grabbed and half dragged down the hall. Julian sent a brief prayer of thanks to the Prophets (or anyone listening) that he wouldn’t have to fight any Jem’Hadar.

“Doctor, what do you think you’re doing?”

“What a proper mate would do. You don’t want them Garak, so I’m making sure they stay away.” He was very careful not to use any words like “protect” or “save,” in order to spare his friend some dignity.

“But you’re not a warrior. They could kill you.” Of course Garak couldn’t be properly thankful or anything.

“I trained with Jadzia for several years. And after everyone found out about my enhancements, she talked Worf into working with me. I know a little bit.”

“A little bit may not be enough. These men are soldiers.”

“That’s right, Garak,” Julian said, his nerves getting the best of him. “Try to be a little bit more pessimistic, why don’t you?”

They reached the room. The Cardassians were on the far side. The Vorta stood to the left, arms crossed and foot tapping. Everyone stood still for a moment, staring at one another. Finally, Balak stepped forward.

He pointed to the circle on the floor. “Combatants must stay within the ring. If any part of your body touches outside of it, you lose. No weapons.” He eyed the nearly naked Starfleet officer who was hastily donning his clothes. “And no armor.”

Nolin scowled, but he accepted the terms and removed his chest plate.

Garak grabbed Julian’s arm. “He’s weak on his left side. He’s powerful, but is reflexes are slow. I think he has poor peripheral vision, too.”

Julian was suddenly glad that Garak had been able to spend time in Nolin’s company. Leave it to Garak to size up his opponent’s weaknesses and exploit them at the first opportunity. He nodded in acknowledgement, wishing he had the courage to lean in for a quick kiss. He tried to let his feelings show as he looked back at him. “I’ll try not to die.” Garak nodded back, eyes wide.

Nolin and Julian entered the ring, sizing each other up. Despite his training with Worf, Julian was thinking back to what he’d learned with Jadzia. “It’s not about your opponent’s strengths and weaknesses. It’s about yours,” she’d told him. When he’d shared it with Worf, the Klingon had agreed. “In every battle, there are two enemies: your opponent, and you. You must overcome both.”

As soon as Nolin rushed him, Julian dashed to the side. He knew that he was fast, and limber. He could dodge and weave forever. It had driven Worf crazy. But it had also worn him down. Garak had been right about Nolin. He was powerful but slow. Julian easily avoided every attempted blow. He kept trying to duck behind the tall Cardassian to strike at a weak spot, causing the other man to constantly spin around. Out of the corner of his eye, Julian could see Garak smiling proudly.

Nolin seemed top heavy, so Julian tried a leg-sweep, but he was just too heavy, period, and barely budged. Julian continued jumping forward and back as Nolin attempted to punch or grapple with him. The Cardassian roared. “Fight me! This is nothing but running away!” Despite knowing better, Julian was goaded into making contact. He tried a few punches of his own, all of which were successfully blocked. Nolin scored a grab around his left wrist, preventing escape, but Julian was able to swing with his right, jamming his elbow in the ridged throat. He let go.

Julian could feel himself wearing down. He hadn’t had nearly enough to eat or drink in the past few days. He was going to have to find a way to disable Nolin soon. But he wasn’t granted time to even form a plan, because the man was coming at him again. When a punch was aimed at his shoulder, he stepped to the side and grabbed the arm, keeping it on its original trajectory, which threw Nolan forward. Julian shoved his shoulder with his other hand in a martial arts move that the Trill had taught him. The Cardassian took it well, though, throwing himself forward into a roll that forced Julian to let go or get pulled down. Instead of springing up, Nolin reached out, grabbing the startled human by the leg. Julian went down. It became a wrestling match in which Julian was horribly out of his weight class. Nolin may not be intelligent, but he had military training and muscular bulk on his side.

From his time with Worf, Julian knew that now it became imperative not to let the other man get on top of him. He wormed out of a squeezing arm and shoved at Nolin, toppling him onto his back. He panicked. This wasn’t sport wrestling, where he just had to keep his opponent down for a few seconds; he had to make sure he stayed down. The split second of hesitation cost him. Nolin yanked his arm out from under him and he fell onto the Cardassian, who sank his teeth into Julian’s shoulder. He screamed in pain as the bite continued, cutting through flesh and scraping bone. But his left arm was free, and he was able to once again wedge his elbow into Nolin’s throat. He pressed down, hard, and the man was forced to push him away or have his windpipe crushed.

Nolin rose into a squat, and before he had a chance to rise, Julian tackled him, knocking him off his feet. He slammed the gray head into the ground as they fell. Nolin grabbed his shoulders with both hands, preventing a repeat. Julian looked past him. Only 2 arm-spans away was victory. He threw himself to the side, letting Nolin think he was going to get the chance to pin the skinnier man. But Julian used his force and mass to carry the soldier across his body and onto his other side, landing on the line of the circle. One arm and leg were outside.

“C’tess!” Balok called.

Julian staggered back to Garak, who immediately helped him down to the floor. He tore a piece from his own shirt to staunch the flow of blood leaking from Julian’s clavicle.

“You’re not done yet, human. I challenge your claim as well,” Muhlt rumbled. “Fight, or concede your whore to me.”

Garak squeezed his hand and stared hard at him. “Forfeit, Doctor. I’ll go. He’ll never survive the night.” The fierce light in his eyes spoke of dark things that had lain buried for far too long. Garak was strong. He could fight. And kill. But Julian knew that wasn’t who he was, who he wanted to be. Overwhelmed not by pain but his feelings for this amazing person, Julian realized he could fight again. But not for the right to claim Garak. So the assassin with a soul would never have to stain his heart again.

Julian steadied himself, rose. “I’m not giving up. Don’t you give up on me either.” Garak reached up, placing his hand on Julian’s cheek. He swallowed, eyes shining, but didn’t say anything. He stepped back.

Julian was done with this. As soon as he stepped in the ring, he charged for Muhlt. The decidedly-smaller Cardassian’s eyes widened as he realized there would be no slow dance or wary movements this time. Julian punched him in the face, once, twice, before he even had his arms up. He reached around the human’s body and raked his clawed nails down the back. Julian yelled and arched in pain. Muhlt jerked his knee up, pounding Julian full in the groin. He doubled over, his back on fire as the skin was pulled taut. But he rammed his head into the Cardassian’s stomach, knocking his breath out. He wrapped his arms around the thighs, shoving off with his feet until his opponent tipped over, landing hard on his rear. Muhlt howled, and the doctor part of Julian’s brain noted that it sounded as if Cardassians also had tail bones. He could feel the arms reaching around him again to make another swipe at his back, but he let them. His own arms reached up toward the neck ridges, which made perfect handholds. As Muhlt sliced his back open once more, he shoved him back, forcing his head to slam onto the hard floor. And again. The arms scrambled to push him off, but his fingers had dug into the scales. He slammed again, harder. The arms went slack.

He stopped, gasping in a great breath of air. Suddenly, Muhlt wrapped his legs and arms around Julian’s limbs, pulling him down against the Cardassian. Muhlt hissed into his ear. “I have a knife in my room. Your Obsidian slut is going to be taught a lesson.” Full of rage, Julian took a lesson from Nolin and sunk his teeth into the shoulder in front of him. But this one was thinner and more delicate than a human shoulder, and his incisors met one another. Muhlt’s head jerked back as he screamed, hands letting go. Julian spat the chunk of scales out and reached for ear ridge and neck ridge on opposite sides and twisted. The neck snapped. He rolled off as the body beneath him slumped. Staring up at the ceiling, his chest heaved as he fought to breathe.

Garak hurried over as the Jem’Hadar hefted Muhlt away. They looked up to see Balak standing over them. “I forfeit,” he declared, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, Julian totally used his elbow to fight in at least 3 episodes and he stabbed a friggin' Jem'Hadar in the neck and killed him at the internment camp, so I feel like this fits his capabilities.


	6. Recovery

Julian was lying on his stomach on the cot, with Garak sitting on the floor next to him, back to the wall. His back was on fire. His shoulder stung. He was covered in bruises, and he might have fractured a bone in his left ankle. And he was just. so. thirsty.

“Garak, did I do something stupid?”

The dark blue eyes shifted over to him. “It would only have been stupid if you lost. But since you won, that makes you incredibly heroic.”

“History is written by the winners, eh?”

“Indeed.”

Julian swallowed several times, trying to blink back the stinging in the corners of his eyes. “Do you think we’ll get rescued?”

“I think spending our time wondering about it is an exercise in futility.”

“Probably.”

“Elim?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember back when you were…dying… from the implant?”

A nod.

“And when you asked me for forgiveness?”

If anyone knew Julian, understood him, it was Garak. He reached up and took Julian’s hand, holding it in his. He gave it a squeeze, and the doctor surrendered to darkness.

=-=-=-=

He woke to hands rubbing down his back. There was something slick under them, making them glide and slip across his skin. It smelled like old gym socks dipped in orange juice, but at least it soothed.

“What is that?” he mumbled.

“While you were asleep, there was a delivery. Some ointments, bandages, food, and even water with vitamin supplements. Seeing as the Jem’Hadar do not eat or have an infirmary, it’s safe to say it wasn’t from them.”

“And probably not the Vorta, either.”

“I concur.”

“Mm, listen to you, using doctory words.”

“And listen to _you_ , sounding half drunk.”

“I think I got knocked in the head a couple times. Nolin has fists like cinder blocks.”

Garak finished applying the ointment to the cuts on his back. “We’re going to have to let that dry before I can apply the bandages. Let’s have a look at that bite, Doctor. I think it’s going to need disinfecting.”

“Julian,” the human insisted, tucking his chin down to deny shoulder access.

“Pardon?”

“If I’m going to fight two soldiers for you and you’re going to run your hands over my skin like that, you have to call me Julian.”

“You always have been an insufferable pest.”

“So you’ve said. And you wouldn’t have me any other way.” He wasn’t sure where the giddiness had come from. Maybe the fact that the ordeal was over? Or that after all these years, he was half-undressed, and Garak was touching him?

“Hmmph.”

“You sound like Odo.” Or maybe it really was the repeated blows to the head.

“Doc—Julian. Are you going to let me look at that, or would you like to keep bleeding all over our cot and letting germs have free access to your body?”

It had to be the blows to the head, because he almost made a comment about letting _Garak_ have free access to his body. But he bit his lips closed and stretched his neck, rolling onto his side so the wound could be seen to without the ones on his back sticking to the bed.

Julian watched as Garak gleefully ripped a scrap from the somewhat shredded Starfleet shirt and dipped it in water. He dabbed at the edges of the torn flesh across Julian’s clavicle. The antibacterial/antiseptic cream that he applied next had no scent, thank goodness. As the Cardassian began taping gauze over the wound, Julian took in a deep breath. He’d been about to sigh, but Garak smelled so _good_. He held his breath, savoring the scent and taste before letting it back out.

“You smell bloody fantastic.”

The hands stilled, then pulled away.

“That must be the medicine.”

“No, that must be you.” Julian reached out to grab Garak’s hand and pull it back so that he could breathe it in some more, and maybe taste it… when the skin on his back protested. The pain cleared his head slightly. “I think… maybe I’m picking up on your pheromones.”

The blue chufa flushed darker. “That is a distinct possibility.” Garak sat back down, farther from the cot than before.

“Garak, Elim…I was thinking.” The wary expression solidified his resolve. “Now that I’ve won… you know. They’re supposed to leave you alone, right? So, we can just stop here. Give it a few days. Until we get to the base and lower temperatures. Or maybe we’ll get rescued.”

Garak looked away. “If you don’t want to do this, I can still go to Nolin. He won’t let up until this is over.”

“No! Don’t do that. It’s not that I don’t want you, Elim. I’ve wanted you for years. It’s just that I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to be with me. You still have a choice.”

He studied the solemn profile in front of him. Even with disheveled hair and a smudge on his cheek, his friend was beautiful. No, that wasn’t the right word. Handsome? Fetching. Striking. And so, so dear to him.

He settled back onto his stomach. “I think my back is dry now.”

Garak sifted through the materials, and held some up. “We can cover your back in adhesive bandages or wrap this material around your torso.”

Julian missed his dermal regenerator. He supposed Balak either didn’t have one or anticipated them using it as a bludgeon on their guards. The fabric would be flexible but not breathe well. The adhesives would stay put but pull at his skin and be a bitch to remove. He was leaning towards the fabric wrap when he realized that it would probably become stuck to his skin as the wounds scabbed over. “Ugh. Never mind. Just leave it alone.”

Garak set the items down. “You’re the doctor.”

“And you make a superb nurse. Come here; help me up.”

Garak gripped his arms and steadied him as Julian rose gingerly, trying not to twist his back. Eventually, he found himself sitting upright, legs stretching off the cot. Garak settled next to him, close. Julian slid his hand over, slipping it on top of Garak’s. He tried to sound reassuring. “As long as we’re together, we’ll make it through this.”

=-=-=-=

Having refused to take the cot from “a wounded colleague” (and that almost stung more than the cuts), Garak insisted he sleep on the floor for the next day or so. In acknowledgment of their dire circumstances, he used his folded tunic as a pillow. How Julian envied him being able to sleep on his back. He wondered idly if he might be able to finagle a switch in places, just to have the cool metal press against his inflamed skin.

“I can feel you staring at me.”

“You’re supposed to be _sleeping_.”

“How can I sleep while under surveillance?”

“However you sleep every time you’ve been incarcerated, I would assume.” Julian would like to believe he could occasionally be as saucy as the Cardassian.

Garak opened one eye. “Feeling better, are we?”

“Marginally.” Not really. His muscles had all developed a deep ache. But his head felt clearer, especially after the food and supplements. He pushed against the bed until he was vertical, then dropped his legs. He closed his eyes for a full minute, taking stock of all the pain, and then brushing it aside. “Elim, in all the time we’ve been together…” Both eyes were open now. “Did you ever—”

“Yes.”

“How do you know what I was going to say?”

“Because, my dear Julian, you are _terribly_ easy to read.”

He’d called him by his name. It was a start. A foot in a proverbial door that had been left purposely open.

“Since when?”

“You’ve always been an open book, Doctor.”

“No, since when did you start to, you know.”

“Since Day 1, I believe. This may come as a shock to you, but in the beginning, I really only wanted to bed you.” Garak’s eyes were closed again, hands folded on his chest. Almost completely unreadable.

“You did?”

“The Obsidian Order didn’t care about Federation secrets. Not at the time, anyway. I was lonely, and addicted to that damnable implant, and you were so very, very alluring.”

Julian waited to be asked the same question back, but it didn’t come. That was fine; he had a response prepared anyway, having worked on the perfect approach while Garak slept (or pretended to). “Well, it wasn’t the same for me. I’m sure it took _years_ for me to find you the least bit attractive. Especially once you stopped wearing that _ridiculous_ watermelon suit.” The eyeridges raised in disbelief were delightful.

“I beg to differ. You were besotted from our first meeting. You nearly jumped out of your skin when I grabbed your shoulders.”

“That was surprise. No one just _touches_ you like that upon just an introduction.”

“I did. And you loved it. You relished it. You ran to Ops to tell all your officer friends about the Cardassian spy making contact, and then went home that night and played it over and over again in your head.”

“I think you’re confusing that last part with your own fantasies.”

“But I already admitted it.” He had, dammit.

“Well, you’re not about to get a confession out of _me_.” And oh boy, did that do it. The look of lazy indifference transformed to predatory as Garak sat up.

“Is that so?”

“Well, sure, I was _intrigued_ about who and what you were. But you were so _obvious_ with inviting me to your shop and shoving me in a dressing room, and then breaking into my room in the middle of the night with that whole Rugal affair. I hate to break it to you, but you came off a little _desperate_.”

The dark blue eyes glinted at him. “ _Me_? Desperate? Who played spy games in the holosuites? You were _infatuated_ with espionage. You wanted me to play out your darkest desires. Admit it, Doctor.”

“Who _broke into_ the games I was playing, just for a little attention?”

Garak stood up. “For a _little attention?_ You were spending entirely too much time in those stories. I was attempting to draw you out.”

“Instead, you followed me around, like a lovesick puppy.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I can assure you I was _not_ lovesick.”

Julian stood too, smirking. “Just like on the Defiant, when you came to me with that bump on your head. And you wanted ‘preferential treatment’ for all the lunches we’d shared.”

“That _bump_ could have been a serious concussion. And if I recall, you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

That was absolutely true, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “I was _healing_ you. That’s what doctors do.”

“Oh? And what about the other 12 crewmen you mentioned? Did you lean on _them_ as you pretended to punch in all sorts of important numbers while not even tending their wounds, just to spend a few more stolen moments?” He’d caught that?

Garak stepped closer. “Admit it, Doctor. You’ve wanted me for _years_.”

“Never.”

“Not even now?”

He shrugged. It was getting dreadfully hard to maintain a straight face, and he wasn’t sure he could keep his voice steady.

Garak took another step. He was further into Julian’s personal space than he’d ever been before. He leaned forward, his aural ridges nearly brushing Julian’s face. He breathed in his ear. “Liar.”

Julian held his hands behind his back, squeezing them into such tight fists that the nails threatened to break the skin. But the perfect target had presented itself. He leaned into Garak’s own ear and crooned, “Prove it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Bashir's character had matured by Season 6. I hope I was able to convey that here.


	7. Union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason for the Explicit rating. If that’s not your thing, just skip to the next one.

The setting was all wrong. A Jem’Hadar ship heading to a Dominion base. A dull gray cell with a single hard cot. Torn clothing and medical supplies on the floor. There wasn’t enough to eat or drink, the air was stifling, and they hadn’t washed in days.

But everything else was perfect. Everything else being that Garak’s hand was bracing the back of his head, knotted into the hair and tugging his head to the side as their mouths collided hungrily. Julian wrapped his arms around Garak’s shoulders, one hand squeezing his back and the other caressing his scaled neck as their mouths opened, tongues dancing. Garak’s lips were dry and smooth, his mouth a few degrees color than his own, a welcome respite from the sweltering ship around them. And he tasted like salted caramel, with a faint metallic undertone.

Julian pushed against him, wanting to get closer and feel every inch, heat be damned. The kiss intensified, teeth scraping together, biting lips as their hands roamed each other’s bodies. It didn’t feel like a first kiss. It felt like years of intimacy and want and _knowing_ all coming together in a culmination of painful pleasure. Julian’s hips jerked of their own accord, surging into Garak’s waist. Suddenly he was spun around and slammed into the wall. Garak’s eyes burned into his as he reached down and palmed Julian through his pants.

“You can’t deny that you want me _now_ ,” Garak growled. He tilted his head to bite down on Julian’s non-bandaged shoulder, pushing forward to trap his hand between their bodies.

“Agh! But that doesn’t…prove anything… a-about before,” he gasped as the hand squeezed his erection. Desperate to fight back, he reached up to grab at Garak’s shoulders, rubbing his thumbs along the ridges that started there and arced up his neck. A faint groan escaped the mouth at his neck before sucking the skin in so tightly it burned. That was going to leave a mark. Julian shoved, only to find the body against him not as movable as anticipated.

Garak’s mouth moved up his neck. “Really, Julian, do you think I’m going to let you go now that I have you here?” he murmured against the skin. He thrust his hips, sending knives of fire through Julian’s lower abdomen. The lithe body arched slightly, head thrown back. Garak licked at the pulse point on his exposed throat while slipping a leg between the doctor’s thighs, bringing their bodies even closer together as he removed his hand. Julian ground against him, gripping the shoulders even tighter. He wrapped his free leg around Garak’s, wishing his shoes were off so he could use his toes and the pad of his foot. Soon.

“You…” he gasped as a hand snaked behind him, grabbing his ass and pulling it forward. “You…”

Garak lifted his head, a mocking look on his face as Julian fought to form a sentence. He gave up and surged forward again, smashing their mouths together, thirsting for another taste. He devoured the chuckle emanating from Garak’s mouth, wanting simultaneously to silence him and make him yell out. And skin. He wanted skin. He ran his hands down Garak’s arms, then brought them in to the bottom hem of his shirt, pulling it up. He dragged it over the abdomen, the scaled chest, then broke the kiss to pull it past their faces. Garak lifted his arms for the garment to slide off, but before it crossed his hands, he twisted out of Julian’s reach and brought them down behind the human. He wrapped the material in his fists and used it to trap Julian against him.

“I’ve got to learn that trick,” Julian murmured, kissing along Garak’s aural ridges. “But I think I might have a few of my own.” He nibbled down, and—spying the blue scales along the Cardassian’s neck, bent his head to lick them. The hiss that followed was an ample reward. He had the upper hand now. As long as Garak was tied behind his back, his hands weren’t free. But Julian’s were. He suckled at each lump along the ridge, tracing the edges with his tongue, while reaching down Garak’s bare back before sliding beneath the hem of his trousers. He slipped in, running his hands over the microscaled cheeks. Garak gasped, bouncing up slightly onto his toes. Julian spread his fingers to cover as much surface as possible before grabbing two handfuls and lifting, nearly dragging Garak off the floor. The roped tunic behind him jerked tighter. He released one hand, letting Garak’s body slide down as his fingers glided over a hip, exploring new ridges before moving around to the front. There was a quick twitch behind him before a freed hand jerked out and grabbed his, stalling its movement.

“Not…yet,” grated a shaky voice from just above his ear. “I…” a few heaving breaths. “I need… a minute.”

Julian immediately let up. He lifted his head to regard the near- trembling man in his arms. His pupils were blown, cheeks flushed from silvery to charcoal, and the chufa’s light blue had darkened nearly as much as his irises. He glanced toward the bed, but Garak shook his head. They disengaged, sinking down to the ground. Garak leaned against the wall, legs out. Julian settled next to him, legs folded. He rested his left hand on Garak’s thigh, just above the knee. An assurance but nothing more. To his surprise, a gray hand joined his.

Garak closed his eyes. “Julian, I’ve wanted this for so long. I never thought I’d be granted the chance. And now that I have you…” he shook his head. The other hand lifted in a futile gesture, dropped. “These are less than ideal circumstances,” he finished lamely.

Julian understood. The Cardassian was finally being given the opportunity to act on his physical desires, only to be forced into dealing with changes to his own body. His chest clenched at the realization that he was seeing Garak at his most vulnerable, maybe even more so than when he was suffering under the implant.

Julian wasn’t sure what to do, so he went with instinct. He removed his hand from under Garak’s and set it down on the floor on the other side of the man’s legs so that he was leaning over them. He leaned forward, bringing his forehead to rest against Garak’s _chufa_. A sense of peace and tenderness flowed through him, and he hoped it was the same for the Cardassian. After five slow breaths, he eased away, settling back onto his own legs.

Garak reopened his eyes, expression inscrutable. Julian smiled. Losing to such an amazing person wasn’t so bad. “Yes, I’ve wanted you since you first approached me in the replimat.” Garak’s mouth quirked, just at the corner. “Yes, I fantasized about you that very night, and had probably the best wanking of my life.” Another twitch. “When you broke into my room, I was _terribly_ disappointed to find out that it wasn’t for me. There were also dozens of lunch debates that you won, simply because I was too busy picturing Morn give oo-mox to Quark just so I could leave the table without embarrassing myself.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Garak said mischievously. “My arguments were much more sound than yours to begin with.”

Rather than rise to the bait, Julian continued. “And on the Defiant, you are absolutely correct. I stood as close to you as I dared and didn’t give a damn who walked in and saw. I wanted to touch you and for you to touch me, and for us to forget about the war in each other’s arms.” He returned his hand to Garak’s leg. “Is that enough confessing, or do you need more?”

Garak gazed at him from hooded eyes. “Your admissions came much too easily. Either you’re not to be believed…or… I need to train you _much more_ to withstand interrogation.”

Julian moved forward. “And which do you think it is?”

“I—” he wasn’t given the chance to respond.

This kiss was even less tame than the previous. They crashed together, all inhibitions finally falling away. Mouths, noses, hands, legs, all demanded to give and receive pleasure as they sought a release to the rising tension. Julian climbed over Garak’s lap to straddle him, only to find himself tangled in his own legs and on his side, a scaled hand bracing his hips so he wouldn’t tip onto his wounded back. Not caring, he finished the roll, carrying Garak forward and over him. His hands pulled at the Cardassian’s trousers but couldn’t push them down because he was pressed flat into the floor as Garak bit his way from shoulder to chest and stopped at a nipple. Not having encountered one before, he contemplated it only briefly before deciding to treat it like one would a scaled ridge on his own body. He squeezed it between his lips, eliciting a moan above him. He flicked his tongue over the tip, swiping it up and down, gratified to feel the hips beneath him thrust upward. But Julian was more flexible than he expected, and slipped downward under him to get a better hold on the fasteners at his waist. His arms almost collapsed at the garment was jerked down to his knees.

He rolled off, but Julian followed, ending up lying on top of Garak’s legs. He grinned triumphantly, tugging the bottoms the rest of the way off. But rather than let Garak have the triumph of removing _his_ pants, he did it himself, kneeling in front of the Cardassian as he slowly peeled them away. Garak lifted to his elbows and watched, gaze drawn to the bulge in the blue briefs that had been exposed. Julian felt the stare as if it had a touch of its own, and had to close his eyes a moment to steady himself before removing _both_ items of clothing.

Garak’s eyes widened before he wrested control of his face, and Julian knew that the blank look was self-protection, not disinterest. He slowly crawled forward over Garak, letting the man lay back softly against the floor. Hearing no protest, he gently eased his body down, letting skin meet skin an inch at a time. Legs, hips, stomach, chest, until he was lying full-length over Garak, propped up on his arms as he gazed into the face of his lover. He could feel the muscles tremble, then steady. Julian clenched his teeth. It was important to do this right. “Elim, do you want this?”

“Julian.” The tone was breathy, but deep.

“Tell me what you want.” He hoped that for once, his plain and simple friend might speak directly.

“I want…” the legs beneath him shifted, parted. “For you…” Hands gripped his waist, just above his hips. “To do what you should have done years ago.” But just as he rose to meet Julian’s mouth, the human backed off.

“You. Approached. _Me_.” Julian looked down sternly. “Don’t think that you can just—” His breath hitched as a scaled hand wrapped around his cock.

Garak rubbed his faced against Julian’s stubbly cheek. “If you don’t take me soon, dear Doctor, I will take you. Is that forward enough?” He punctuated his statement with a twist of his hand. Julian yelled out.

He dropped his head against the Cardassian’s shoulder. “Alright, you win.”

A tsk. “Yet another concession. I do believe I’m in the lead.”

Julian wormed his own hand between them, reaching for the slit between Garak’s legs. He ran his fingers up and down the seam, delighted to find it already hot and wet. “Next time, we’re going to take this slower,” he asserted. “But since you seem to be impatient this time…” He slid his fingers in. It was as if all the heat of the station had been gathered into Garak’s body and concentrated inside. The slick walls of the opening were hot and velvety, and the thought of his prick in place of his fingers was nearly enough to make him come undone. Garak sounded as if he wasn’t close behind. Julian withdrew slowly, then pushed in further, drawing a hiss that ended in a moan. His fingers found a protuberance similar to his own, and he rubbed against what he could reach. It obliged, sliding forward, and he ran his fingers along the length.

“Mmmph, aah!” came the voice of his companion, and he had never heard anything so marvelous. The _prUt_ pushed the rest of the way out, finishing its eversion.

Julian bent to lick Garak’s neck from shoulder to chin. He stopped by the ear. “Point for me.”

“I’m still far ahead,” Garak ground out. He stroked the phallus in his hand, then led it to his entrance. When Julian hesitated, Garak used the hand on the human’s hip to force him in. “Another point for me.”

“Ohhh. Agh.” Julian tried to form a coherent thought. “In more ways than one,” he managed. He pressed in, the scales of the _ajan_ scraping against his shaft as the tip pushed through tight, rippling muscles. They both held the position for a moment, getting used to the feel of one another before their bodies began to make urgent demands.

Julian’s nerves were burning from his cock all the way down his legs, and his toes curled. He pulled out slowly, basking in the textures he slipped past. Then he pushed back in, sinking up to the hilt. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. It _had_ been years, after all. Garak entwined their legs, arching his back to take him in fully.

“Julian… _Please_ …” Hearing Garak beg like that, it was too much. He began to thrust more insistently and was greeted enthusiastically with pumping hips below his. They rocked together, finding a rhythm as natural as every debate, every touch, every day that had passed between them. Their moans and sighs mingled until neither could tell whose breath they came from. The pace increased until it became hard and erratic, bodies slamming against each other while hands tugged and pulled and pushed indiscriminately. Julian could feel Garak’s muscles begin to clench around him and he let out a hiss of his own before biting down on a blue ridge one final time. Garak let out a roar as his seed spilled out between them. The crush of flesh around his own tipped Julian over the edge too, and he poured into Garak with a shout of his own. He collapsed, settling his head on the floor next to Garak’s as their bodies continued to twitch and pulse against each other.

“I… win.” Garak mumbled.

“Like hell you do.” Julian was surprised to find himself able to do anything other than pant. He was going to need water _soon_. “I held out the longest. I win.” He could just see the outline of Garak’s face out of the periphery of his vision. But he didn’t have to see it completely to know that smile.

“Whatever you say, my dear.”


	8. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussions of abortion and miscarrying

The next two days they were left blissfully alone, other than the occasional drop-offs, but the food and water were inserted through the slot at the bottom of the door, so the intrusions were minimal. True to Julian’s word, their second time was slower, and they took the chance to learn each other’s bodies before exploiting the knowledge to the fullest several times afterwards.

The fare continued to be terrible, but with the supplements that had been provided, they stayed reasonably healthy. Julian’s back was healing quickly, and he even removed the bandage over his collar bone. Despite his injuries, he still tried to force the bulk of the food onto Garak, who—predictably—kept refusing it.

In between meals, long discussions, and ardent lovemaking, there was still plenty of free time, and Julian found himself worrying more and more. No one had come for them, which could mean any number of things. Maybe the cloak was preventing detection, maybe their shuttle had been destroyed, maybe no one even knew something happened to them, only that they never returned. And if no one was coming, then how were they going to escape? Their best bet would be the transfer out of the ship and into the base, if they could overcome their guards and find somewhere to hide…

“Stop,” Garak grumbled. “You’re thinking too loud.” He was sitting on the cot, resting where the walls met in a corner, his legs crossed in an unfamiliar form of repose. “And your pacing is becoming bothersome.”

“Oh, _my_ pacing is a problem, but it’s fine when _you_ do it?” Julian bickered back. He huffed, joining Garak on the cot. “Is this better?”

Garak dropped his head back, closing his eyes. “Much.”

Julian wasn’t sure if the bared neck was on purpose or not, but he took it as an invitation, moving closer to take possession of the exposed skin. He stopped, a hairbreadth away. “Hmm. You smell different.”

They both froze, the implication rushing in. Julian took another tentative whiff. “You smell less like almond macaroons—”

“That did _not_ translate.”

“Um, like cookies?”

Garak looked indignant. “I smell like cheap snacks?”

Julian tried to stifle his laughter. “No, no. Macaroons are more like a… dessert. They’re fancy and the best ones are hand-made. Absolutely delectable.” He schooled his expression to be serious. “Very fitting for a tailor. I’ll buy you a box some time.”

Garak looked mollified.

“As I was saying, you smell less like those are more like…” Another sniff. “Qatayef _.”_

“That didn’t translate either. But I assume it’s another food?”

“Mm-hmm.” Julian thought back to his childhood. “They’re a type of pancake that originates in the Middle East, back on Earth. My aunt used to make them for me. You fold them over, filling them with cheeses or nuts, maybe some coconut or spices. They make little crescents that you usually drizzle in syrup. My aunt made a rose syrup…”

“Julian, I think I have the idea.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose you do. I guess my hunger is getting to me.”

They sat in an uncomfortable silence, neither one wanting to broach the next topic. But Julian took his responsibility as a doctor very seriously, so he fortified himself. “It would seem that your hormone levels have changed.” He fidgeted. “I don’t know much more about this,” he sighed. “Are there other signs I could check for?”

Garak’s shoulders stiffened. “This is not _my_ area of expertise, either, Doctor.” One hand clenched, relaxed. “I think there is supposed to be a temperature decrease.”

Julian changed positions to face Garak better. “Well, I can’t get a very accurate temperature with just my hands, but let me at least take a few readings, okay?” A nod. “Your pulse is elevated, but that could be stress, or dehydration. You don’t feel any cooler, but you could have dropped half a degree without me being able to tell.” He picked up a gray wrist. “Your blood pressure is healthy, but beyond that, I don’t know. I _hate_ this. Not being able to help you.”

“My dear, I’d say you’ve helped plenty already, wouldn’t you?”

There was a knot in his stomach. He didn’t know how to respond, what the appropriate response _would_ be. The safest approach would be a clinical one.

“Elim, I know you said you don’t intend to… follow through with this. But if we end up in another prison, or internment camp, you may not have that option.”

“There are always ways, Doctor. I would expect you to know that,” Garak said darkly.

“But all of them would involve harming yourself, possibly even putting your life in danger! I’m not going to let you starve yourself, or drink cleaning solutions, or provoke some prisoner into beating you to a pulp…” He stopped, unwilling to picture any other scenarios. He knew he was letting his emotions reign and needed to regain control. “If our conditions don’t change, I expect it wouldn’t last long anyway,” he conceded. “You’re not being given enough to support one life, much less two.”

Garak’s eyes were closed again. He looked troubled. His lips were set in a thin line, his expression tight.

Julian couldn’t stay professional. He shifted back to Garak’s side, although in a position to look into his face. “Elim.” He took a hand, folded in between both of his. “You’re not alone in this.”

“I know that, Julian. And I am eternally grateful. Your vast amounts of charity are only eclipsed by your unbearable amounts of optimism in the face of adversity.”

“Thank you, I think.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of optimism, have you considered what to do in a… best case scenario?”

The blue eyes opened warily. “Explain.”

“Well, let’s say we _do_ get rescued. Or find an escape. We make it back to Deep Space Nine.” If it was possible, his perpetually dry mouth got even drier. “You said that you wouldn’t keep a child of _theirs._ That all it could have was a life of exile. But what about a child of _mine_? The life of a Federation citizen?” He was shaking. He couldn’t believe it. A child.

“The thought…had occurred,” Garak admitted reluctantly.

“And what about it?” Julian pressed.

“It isn’t… unacceptable.”

Did that mean it might be acceptable? “I could help you every step of the way. Regular checkups, ultrasounds, vitamins, all the medical care necessary to make everything easy. I could contact Ulani Belor and Gilora Rejal for advice and resources. Elim, we could do this.”

“You’re forgetting a very crucial factor, Doctor. The _results_ of a successful pregnancy.”

That he had even dared to use the word gave Julian hope. “A…” He barely dared to breathe. “A baby?”

“The offspring of an ex-agent Cardassian exile and an illegally-augmented human.”

That was sobering. He put on the mental brakes. But he wanted to know one thing before putting it to rest. “ _If_ we make it out. We can talk about it. Will you at least _consider_ giving this a try?”

“I will.”

=-=-=-=

Julian was startled out of his sleep by a rough rocking movement. He lifted his head from Garak’s shoulder. The Cardassian was rigid, bracing one hand on the wall and one across his bedmate. The ship lurched, tossing them to the side as a loud boom reverberated through the cell.

“We’re being attacked.” Garak’s eyes were scanning back and forth across the room, searching fruitlessly for a weapon or means of escape.

Julian clenched his arm. Before panic could set it, he jumped up and started collecting materials from the floor. The medical supplies were shoved into his Starfleet jacket, which he tied shut using the sleeves. He pulled on his shredded shirt, crashing to the ground as his feet were knocked from under him as the ship was hit again.

Garak finished donning his clothes and reached for bandages that had rolled under the cot. He tumbled against it when the ship jerked from a double hit.

There were loud noises emanating from outside the door now. They ran over to investigate. Standing still, waiting and listening, Julian looked at Garak. This might be the last time they were alive together. He dropped his bundle and embraced the man tightly. He kissed his cheek as the hug was returned. “Elim, I love you. You know that, right? Tell me you know.”

“I know, Julian.”

To their surprise, a loud zap and hiss came from the other side of the door, just through the wall.

Garak gasped and pulled away. “I think that was the door panel. Push!”

Together, they braced their palms against the metal and shoved to the right. It jerked. They dug in their feet and pushed with everything in them, and the door gradually eased open. As soon as there was a large enough space to slip through, they grabbed their supplies and did so.

Waiting for them was Balok, phaser in hand. But it was pointing at the panel, not them. He gave a short, fierce grin. “It looks like you managed an escape! Quick, this way.” They ran through one dark corridor, turned into another. They were thrown against the wall as the ship was barraged, and sparks flew from the bulkhead across from them. They hurried on to the escape pods, which had been deserted. He gestured to one. “Now! Get in!”

Garak stopped to say something, then raised his hand, shooting a Jem’Hadar that had shown up behind Balok. Julian stared. Where had he picked up a phaser? He was jerked into the pod and shoved into a seat. The door shut before Garak could even enter any commands. It must have been Balok.

Garak poked at the controls while Julian took over the comm system. “I’m sending out a distress signal. It’ll tell whoever’s attacking that we’re Dominion prisoners.” The pod jolted, then smoothly sped off under Garak’s command. Julian watched the panel for any sign of contact. The silence surrounding them was almost deafening after the explosions they’d left behind. He reached over and grabbed Garak’s hand, squeezing and smiling fiercely. “We’re going to make it.”

“It’s a little premature for your incredible optimism, dear.”

Julian mock-frowned at Garak, only to feel a tingle and see the ship around him dissolving. A familiar bridge greeted him. Jadzia was standing right in front of him, and her face lit up. In the background, he could see Captain Sisko in his chair and Miles furiously plugging away.

He turned to Garak next to him and leapt into his arms, hugging as tight as he could. “It’s not just optimism, Elim. It’s faith. Faith that your friends will be there for you.” He felt arms move around his waist, and pressed his face into the scaled shoulder, never wanting to let go. He whispered so that no one else could hear. “Have faith that _I’ll_ be there.” He leaned back and looked into Garak’s eyes. For the first time ever, he saw hope. And it was the most beautiful sight in the galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are 2 fanvids that inspired me while I wrote this. Neither is mine, but they're amazing.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rt2yotshND0&list=PLQpPPhjCDLTEMIrY3AbrISs2Qmuxf0K2b&index=3&t=0s  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMLyrfGoxrQ&list=PLQpPPhjCDLTEMIrY3AbrISs2Qmuxf0K2b&index=4


End file.
